


one single thread of gold tied me to you

by shybear_styles



Series: i'm still trying everything to keep you looking at me [2]
Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: M/M, Minor Character Death, daniel and pierre make a brief appearance, it's mentioned twice by strangers, it's sad!charles hour, set in 2017, you know what that means
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:27:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27164536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shybear_styles/pseuds/shybear_styles
Summary: He remembers Charles’ soft voice saying that things would get better and wonders how many times the boy had repeated those words to himself. He wonders if he ever believed them.
Relationships: Charles Leclerc/Max Verstappen
Series: i'm still trying everything to keep you looking at me [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1982944
Comments: 10
Kudos: 82





	one single thread of gold tied me to you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ledger_m](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ledger_m/gifts).



> The idea for this came from a picture of Charles cheering for Seb at the 2017 Monaco GP. I wanted it to be cute and sweet, but then I checked the date of the GP, saw that Baku was the next round and, well... What else was I supposed to write?
> 
> Also, this was way less self-indulgent than I thought it would be? I'm amazed at myself.
> 
> Once again, this is for Kamila. Thank you for giving me the idea and for talking about f1 with me every single day of the week. You're the best!

To say that Max is upset is an understatement. 

Yes, he managed to finish the race, which is an achievement in and of itself in a track like Monaco, and score some points, but that doesn’t mean he’s happy with fifth place. Especially considering Daniel’s year so far.

“C’mon, Max. You got some points and got the car home in one piece, that’s a win in my book.” Daniel’s arm comes around his shoulder as they’re walking away from the Red Bull hospitality.

“That’s easy for you to say, you got a podium.” Max mumbles out but lets himself be pulled in whatever direction Daniel is going. It’s 8 pm, they’ve finished their media and team duties and are now free to leave the track and celebrate. Or, in Max’s case, go home and mope.

“Oh, I know something that will cheer you up in no time.” There’s something in Daniel’s voice that has Max prepared to run and the _oh, shit_ feeling has just hit him when… “CHARLES!”

Daniel’s voice rings through the paddock, attracting even more attention than usual after he screams _Charles fucking Leclerc’s_ name at the top of his lungs. Charles, who was forced to retire after what should’ve been a win in his home race in F2, _not that Max was keeping track or anything like that_ and is standing a few meters in front of them wearing a Ferrari shirt with sunglasses hanging from the collar, and smiling at them with the world’s most ridiculous dimples.

“Hiya, mate! Long time no see.” Daniel says as soon as they’re standing in front of Charles and steps closer to give him a one armed hug, his other arm still on Max’s shoulder, which puts him in very close proximity to the Monégasque.

“Yes, it’s been a while.” He replies after Daniel steps back. “Hi, Max.” 

“Hey.” Max’s voice manages to crack with that one small word and he just wants to turn around and leave before embarrassing himself even further. Daniel, it seems, has other plans.

“Do you have plans, Charlie, or are you on your way home?”

“No plans, but I’m not going home either.” Charles answers after a few seconds, some strange look passing through his eyes at the mention of going home and disappearing right after.

“Great, then you can join us!” Daniel enthusiastically says and, before anyone can reply, he steps forward, throws his other arm across Charles’ shoulder and starts pulling the three of them in the direction of the exit. “I’m thinking some food, drinks and good company might do all of us some good. Mind showing us around, Charlie boy?”

Max can’t see his face, but he hears a small laugh from Charles and a soft “okay” and knows he’s fucked.

They leave the paddock soon after that, just the three of them walking the streets of Monaco with Daniel walking a couple of steps in front and Max and Charles side by side.

Despite being understandably distracted by his _everything_ , Max can’t help but notice how tired Charles looks. There’s a sad twinge in his eyes even though he’s smiling and the Dutchman finds himself worried. He tries to convince himself that it’s just a normal exhaustion after a race weekend, but it doesn’t work.

\----

Max and Charles are sitting on a bench near the harbour. It’s well past midnight and Daniel left them after they got food with some excuse about being expected at a party. Max would have believed him if it weren’t for the suggestive tone of his voice when he left with a “you kids behave”. 

Surprisingly, even though Max was terrified of being alone with Charles, they’ve been having a really good time. As time went on, both of them got more comfortable around each other, even managing a few jokes about their time in karting. That sad look from earlier faded as they both talked about random things, music and tv shows and the memory of it was replaced in Max’s mind by the sound of Charles’ stupidly endearing laughter.

But they’ve been quiet for some time now, Charles’ gaze lost somewhere amidst the boats and Max’s fixed on the other boy, and he can’t keep himself from asking.

“Charles… Are you okay?”

“I’m fine… Just tired from the race and a little disappointed by the results.” It’s the answer he gets and he knows, deep down, that it is a lie. But the two of them are not friends, no matter how much Max wishes for it, and he’s in no place to force him to talk if he doesn’t want to.

Max tries to change the subject and it works for a little while. But then Charles asks if he’s feeling confident about the season and, well… 

“I don’t think this is going to be a good year for me. The team’s focus is on Daniel, as it should be, but I just don’t feel like they’re willing to go to great lengths to help me improve.” He doesn’t mention how much his father is pressuring him to do better. Max’s not touching that particular Pandora’s box for as long as he can avoid it. 

“You’ll get there.” Charles says and hits Max’s shoulder lightly with his own. “You’re an amazing driver and you’re in a good team. Things might be a little hard right now, but it’ll change soon. I know it will.”

There’s a charged moment between them as Charles’ words fade, the waves hitting the boats in front of them and people talking nearby the only sounds as they stare at each other.

The moment is broken when someone walks behind them laughing loudly, other people showing up and joining. Max clears his throat and looks away, thankful for the low light hiding how red his cheeks are.

“We should probably go home. We’ve both had quite the weekend and it’s pretty late already.” 

“Yes, it is.” Charles hasn’t looked away from him yet, but Max clears his throat again and stands up, brushing up dust from his pants to keep himself from offering the other boy a hand.

Both boys walk back to the street in silence again. After realizing that they’re headed in opposite directions, they say an awkward goodbye and Max starts walking, already replaying the last few minutes in his head and hating himself for running like a coward.

“Max,” Charles’ voice stops him and he turns back around. The Monégasque is standing at the same place, that sad look in his eyes that he had when they started talking hours ago back. “Things will get better.”

It’ll be days until Max can stop thinking about the longing in Charles’ voice as he said those words.

\----

Almost a month after that day, Max is in Baku getting ready for what he’s sure is going to be another disastrous race when he hears the news.

He’s been giving interviews since qualifying ended and is enjoying a brief moment of peace at the Red Bull hospitality. Some people are watching one of the TVs showing the F2 race and, before he knows it, he’s walking closer to try and see which position Charles is in.

Max knows he’s not good at hiding his emotions, but he still makes an effort to suppress the smile that threatens to break out when he sees Charles is leading the race with less than 10 laps to go.

“I still can’t believe that kid is racing… Can you imagine what’s going through his mind right now?” A guy standing near Max says and one of the women watching the TV turns around, a sad expression on her face.

“I don’t even want to imagine. His father just died and there he is, leading a race as if nothing is wrong.”

“What did you say?” It takes a couple of seconds for Max to realize that he’s the one who spoke, the people who were watching the race all staring at him now.

“Didn’t you know? Leclerc’s father passed away three days ago… Apparently he was sick for a few months and his condition just kept getting worse.”

Max isn’t sure how to react. He mumbles a ‘thank you’ to the woman and quickly leaves for his room, making sure to lock the door and sitting in the chair in the corner.

He’s seen glimpses of Charles since he arrived at the paddock on Thursday, always with sunglasses on his face and Pierre by his side like a shadow. Max wanted to speak to him, but there was always someone demanding his attention and, by the time he could get away, Charles was gone.

He thinks about how tired Charles looked back in Monaco, how he was reluctant to leave and go home even after they had spent hours walking around the city and wonders how bad things were then. He regrets not asking him what was wrong.

He remembers Charles’ soft voice saying that things would get better and wonders how many times the boy had repeated those words to himself. He wonders if he ever believed them.

\----

It’s hours before Max is free from the after-qualy duties and can try to find Charles.

He caught a glimpse of the F2 podium, Charles standing at the highest step with the trophy in hand and pointing at the sky and had to fake a cough to get rid of the lump in his throat.

The Dutchman walks around the paddock for a few minutes until he remembers he has Pierre’s number. A quick and somewhat awkward call to the French driver later, Max makes his way to the far end of the paddock, where the F2 teams stay during the weekends.

He finds Pierre and Charles sitting at a table near the Prema truck, both in normal clothes and Charles with his eyes still hidden behind his sunglasses. It’s obvious that he is not okay, from the way his body is slightly curled up in the chair and how pale his skin is. Pierre looks up when he approaches them, but the other boy doesn’t move, head slightly down towards the table and fingers fidgeting.

“Hey.” Max has never felt more awkward in his entire life and, suddenly, he realizes that he has no idea what to say to Charles.

“Hi, Max.” Pierre says and it is clear that he has no idea about what Max is doing there. Well, that makes two of them.

“Could you give me a minute with Charles?” The boy in question hasn’t moved and the Dutchman isn’t sure that he’s even hearing them.

Pierre looks at Charles for a few seconds and stands up. He stops by Max and gives him a look that could probably be translated to something like “if you hurt my friend I will hurt you”. In any other situation, it would be amusing. This time, though, Max just looks right back at him and nods.

He takes the seat that Pierre vacated and waits until the French driver is far enough that he won’t hear what he says. And then waits a little longer because he still doesn’t know what to say to Charles.

As always, Charles surprises him.

“You don’t have to say anything, you know?” His voice has that same soft tone it had back in Monaco and Max is startled. “I know that you’re probably wondering what to say to show that you feel sorry for me without making me start crying, but you don’t need to.”

“I’m sorry that you had to go through that and put up a brave face in front of all those people.” Is what Max settles on. Charles’ fingers stop and he rests his hand on the table. “I won’t ask you about it and you don’t have to say a word to me if you don’t want to. But I’m here for you.”

The Monégasque takes a deep breath and nods once, but doesn’t say anything. He’s still staring at the table and Max finally looks away from him. He catches Pierre watching them attentively, but he only looks at Max again and looks down at his phone. Seems like he passed whatever best friend test was happening, then.

“I wanted to tell you,” Charles says out of the blue and the Red Bull driver looks back at him. “Back in Monaco, when you said that we should go home because it was late, I wanted to tell you that I’d rather stay out all night than go back home. I almost told you a couple of times that night, but then I thought about having to explain everything and it was just easier to pretend that things were okay.”

“I knew that something was going on with you.” Max confesses. “I obviously had no idea about how serious it was, but I knew that you were trying to hide from something. I knew you were lying when you said that everything was fine, because people always use the word ‘fine’ when things are anything but that, but I didn’t feel like I had any right to pry. I am sorry about that too.”

“You don’t need to apologize, Max.” The first thing Max thinks is that he has missed hearing Charles say his name, immediately followed by _what the fuck do you think you’re doing, this is not the time_. “Talking about it back then wouldn’t have helped me or changed anything. But I am glad for the time we spent together… I had more fun in those few hours than I’d had in weeks and it really helped me.”

In that moment, the Monégasque takes off his sunglasses and leaves them at the table. His grief is even more obvious now with the purple bags under his usually brilliant eyes, which are dull and slightly red. He starts fidgeting with the sunglasses now and really, there’s only thing that Max could say right now.

“Charles,” He says softly and reaches out to grasp the boy’s wrist. “If nothing else, believe this: things will get better.”

Charles seems to recognize the meaning of those words. He smiles at Max, the barest hints of his dimples showing, and looks down to where they’re touching. His left hand comes up to rest on top of Max’s and squeeze it lightly.

They both sit there in silence, Pierre a few meters away pretending to be focused on his phone and the noises of the end of a Saturday around the paddock around them.


End file.
